


When Stars Fall

by gold_heart_outlaw



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: 2 cowboys find love after experiencing great loss, AU where the cool ppl live, But minimal character death, Graphic Violence, He's had top surgery somehow so I don't have to write about binding, Hurt/Comfort, I pretty much killed the canon with my bare hands, I think they would have been good together if Bill could have stopped being nasty, M/M, Rated E for later chapters, Self-indulgent fic abt my OC/Red Dead Online character and Arthur, Smut, Trans Character, Trans Male Character, and makes up with Javier and they get together, arthur never gets TB, basically me putting a bandaid on my pain, oh also Bill stops being racist, past trauma, probably more tags later on
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-01-06 05:27:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21221321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gold_heart_outlaw/pseuds/gold_heart_outlaw
Summary: After the gang's arrival in West Elizabeth, Arthur is handed a strange note by a bartender, inviting him to meet a stranger that night. Enter Declan "Lonesome" Esposito, an infamous bandit and gunslinger from way out west. The two men rob a stagecoach with a large payout, causing Arthur to get to know the man a little better. Shortly after, Declan is invited to join the Van der Linde gang.But why does Arthur feel drawn to him? Like their meeting was always inevitable. What will they do when the gang starts to deteriorate? Will Arthur follow Dutch to the grave? Or will Declan be enough to convince him that there is always a better option?





	1. The Proposition

"Shot of whiskey." Arthur stated gruffly, tossing the coin onto the wooden counter with a clink. The bartender obliged, retrieving a glass from beneath the counter and a bottle of the requested alcohol from behind him. The man poured the amber liquid into the clear glass, nearly to the top, then picked up the payment and returned the bottle to it's rightful place.

The outlaw took the glass in his hand, giving it's contents only a monentary glance before tossing the contents into his mouth, the back of his throat burning in that familiar and comforting way. As the alcohol began to take it's soothing effect, the bartender slid a small slip of paper across the counter towards him.

"What's this?" Arthur asked, looking at the man with raised eyebrows. The bartender shrugged, picking up the now empty glass and beginning to clean it. "Some feller came in here earlier, paid me to give that to a man with green eyes and an old gamber's hat, no questions asked. You look like you might be the intended recipient."

Arthur felt his stomach drop. Who in the hell could have sent this? They knew what he looked like, so that must mean they know who he is... Right? Hands shaking from both the consumed spirits and the anxiety, he carefully unfolded the small piece of paper.

Dear Mr. Morgan,

I have followed your gang's exploits for quite some time now. You could even say that I have become a bit of a fan of your work. With this in mind, it is my firm belief that you are the perfect man for a small business venture I have planned.

Please meet me after dark by the cliff outside of town.

Sincerely,

D.E

Arthur swallowed nervously. Who was this stranger? He knows about the gang. Then again, a lot of people had caught wind of the Van der Linde gang and their activities. But still, he knew where to find Arthur, so did that mean he knew where the rest of the gang was?

His stomach churned as he ran through all of the scenarios of what could go wrong. Surely, if he knew of his and the gang's whereabouts and he meant any harm, he would have simply made his move... Right?

He made up his mind then and there.

He didn't want to get anyone else involved, just in case it was some sort of trap, he was confident he could take care of it himself. He would meet this stranger and, if needed, take care of him.

\--

Arthur strode up to the designated spot sat atop the Morgan he had found back at the Adler ranch, clutching the reins tightly in his palms, slick with sweat from his nervousness.

Sure enough, a lanturn cast a small area of golden illumination, revealing not only a horse grazing absentmindedly nearby, but a man sat on the cliff's edge with his back facing him.

Arthur halted his horse and dismounted, making sure his gun was loaded and tucked away safely in it's holster, just in case. Slowly, hesitantly, he began his approach upon this mysterious man.

Gravel and dry grass crunched beneath his boots as he walked closer to the figure, yet despite making as much noise as possible, the man did not turn around, as if confident in his knowledge of the oncoming person and of their intent to do no harm.

Arthur stopped about ten feet away from the man. From what he could tell, the man wore a tan hunting jacket, with a black western hat atop his head.

He was about to think of some sort of greeting, but was interrupted when the figure before him did so first. "You got my note I assume?" Arthur was taken aback at the stranger's forwardness, leaving him capable only of stuttering out a simple, "Right..." Still, the man did not turn around. Instead, he raised an arm and performed a sort of forward waving motion, which Arthur (correctly so) assumed was meant to mean he was being beckoned over.

Cautious but ever curious, the outlaw approached the stranger.

When he reached the man's side, he got a glimpse of his appearance. Peeking out from under the hat he could see a hint of the slicked back auburn locks that lie beneath. The man's face was a bit rough, evidence of a long life lived outdoors, accentuated by the various blemishes and a vertical scar over his left eye. In the man's lap lie a rather wide sketchbook, and outlined in black on the cream background were what appeared to be hundreds of stars, a detailed hand-drawn picture of the night sky.

"Go ahead and have a seat, would you?" the man gestured to the spot beside him. Arthur obliged, lowering himself onto the rough ground a mere foot from the stranger.

At last, the man turned to face him. His eyes were a deep blue that Arthur had only seen surrounded with gold and silver in the precious jewelry that he had liberated from some particularly well off women in the past.

He was stunned for a moment, as if his ability to speak was long forgotten the moment he looked into the stunning pools of sapphire before him.

His senses returned to him and he quickly cast his eyes in another direction, hiding his embarrassment.

It wasn't exactly the first time he'd found himself admiring another man, he'd known for quite some time of his attraction to both men and women, but it was certainly the first time he'd found a potential threat to his and the gang's safety alluring.

The man's voice interrupted his train of thought, causing his attention to snap back onto the man. "Let's get to it, shall we? Oh, but first," he extended his hand forward, the universal prompt for a formal greeting.

"Name's Declan Esposito." Arthur took the man's hand, his own calloused palms grinding against Declan's own hard-worked hand uncomfortably. "Arthur Morgan. 'Course, you already knew that." This illicited a small smile from the red head.

Declan began his explanation of the "business proposition" he'd had in mind.

It was a stagecoach robbery, a concept not exactly new to either man. It was a bank coach, no doubt with a massive take, and it would be passing through the Heartlands on it's way to Lemoyne. Shortly after crossing Twin Stack Pass, a good chunk of the security would be departing, before the convoy would be picking up more security around Emerald Station.

"So, why do you need me fer' this?" Arthur questioned. Declan seemed like he had done this sort of thing himself before, so what was different now? Declan sighed. "Well... The truth is, I don't feel quite confident enough to go into this one myself. Maybe I coulda managed back in my youth, but..." he trailed off, looking wistfully into the distance with a soft smile, as if reminiscing on times long past.

He suddenly emerged from his pensive state, seemingly remembering that he was not alone in that moment.

He chuckled dryly, letting his eyes momentarily fall shut as he shook his head gently, before returning his attention to Arthur. "Ol' Lonesome Esposito, that's what they used to call me. I must'a robbed my way though nearly every state in this damn country."

Arthur could recall hearing that name on a handful of occasions on the gang's travels, as well as seeing the wanted posters from time to time.

He felt a little more comfortable knowing he was in the presence of another outlaw, especially knowing that, even if Declan opted to turn him in for the price on his head, Arthur could turn around and do the same.

Arthur gave his newfound acquaintance a sly smile.

"So, what's in this for me?" Declan, as if waiting for him to ask, had no hesitation with his answer. "70% of the whole take."

Arthur's jaw could have hit the ground. 70%, of a guaranteed big take!? What was this guy playing at? Did he know something about this job? Was this a trap after all?

Declan, seeming to read his mind, chose to ease his worries. "I ain't after the money, so I don't mind giving you most of it. There's something else in that coach that I'm after. I can explain later. Do we have a deal?"

Something about the man's tone and expression... Arthur could tell that he was sincere.

With his initial fear subsiding, he drew in a deep breath, before affirming his decision.

"Deal."


	2. The Deed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! It's here! After over a month! 
> 
> *shakes fist* curse you ADHD! You never let me do anything within a reasonable span of time!
> 
> Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy this chapter. After this, we get more into the gang stuff xx

When the time came, the two men set up a temporary camp some distance from the first road.

Not wanting to draw attention to themselves, their only source of light was a lantern. The golden light they were enveloped by casted their shadows long against the valley. 

With their weapons cleaned and loaded - although they hoped there would be no need for them - the only thing they had to do now, was wait.

Arthur volunteered as lookout, his gaze steady against the darkened trail from which their target would be coming from, looking for the first hint of light or movement that would be their signal to move. 

Declan tended to the horses, making sure they were well fed and ready for the night ahead.

Declan's horse was a beautiful female thoroughbred with a champagne coat, whom he had referred to on a few occasions as Freyja.

The name sounded familiar to Arthur, perhaps one from the mythology book that Hosea had lent him some years back.

Back in the daylight, Arthur had seen hints of raised skin beneath the thin fur of the horse's neck, the telltale signs of past brutality against the poor creature. 

He wondered how the scars had come about, as Declan certainly didn't seem like the type to take a whip to his riding partner. He took asking about it under consideration, but quickly decided against it, for fear that it may be a sore subject for his acquaintance. 

The sudden approaching sound of hooves and wheels against the dirt road caused both men to snap to attention. At last, the time had come. 

Arthur's stomach turned somersaults as he mounted up, sliding his bandana over his face while his companion did the same. 

The snap of their reins seemed to resound through the night as they ascended on the unsuspecting coach.

-

As they had discussed, Arthur took up the rear of the coach, while Declan took to the front.

Declan rode directly in the path of the coach, standing firm as the vehicle came to a sudden stop to avoid hitting the man and his horse.

The driver looked on in horror as the red haired man raised his revolver, the light of the coach's lantern glinting against the polished metal.

Arthur mimicked the man's actions, though he kept silent and allowed his associate to take the lead, waiting in turn to be instructed on his next action.

At last, the tense silence was broken.

"Now, how about you fellers do exactly as we say, and maybe we'll all make it out of this in one piece, hmm?" Declan spoke coolly, calculated, as a man who'd made his living off of robbing should.

The driver and his partner nodded profusely, nearly on the verge of tears. 

Declan turned to his own partner. "Arthur, help these gents down and keep an eye on 'em, would you?"

"Right." the gruff man agreed, gesturing with his gun for the two men to remove themselves from the coach, before dismounting and escorting them to wait nearby. 

Declan followed suit, giving Freyja a pat on the neck before walking around the coach to the back.

He retrieved a small device from his satchel, placing it on the lock separating them from the coveted riches no doubt lying inside. 

With a _snap_, the lock came loose from the door, and was promptly tossed aside. __

_ __ _

Declan turned to Arthur, who currently held his gun on the two trembling men unfortunate enough to be on the job tonight. "Send those two one their way, and come give me a hand." he called, before ducking back into the coach.

Arthur made sure the two men were unarmed, before handing them a lantern and sending them on their way, with threats that would cause even the most hardened man to quake in his boots should they speak of what had transpired that night.

As the two unfortunates ran off into the night toward potential civilization, the two cowboys began sorting through the ill begotten fruit of their efforts.

It was mostly cash, although there seemed to be a few valuables mixed in as well, all easily exchanged for more currency.

Still, Declan overlooked the exuberant wealth, scanning his eyes over the piles and through the opened boxes, in search of something specific.

Finally, it seemed he found what he was after, as he slipped a small red jewelry box into his coat pocket.

With their newly acquired treasure in tow, the two men rode some ways away from the scene of their crime, so that they could talk without fear of the impending law capturing them.

"You're satisfied with your take I hope?" Declan said, placing a cigarette between his lips before fumbling with his box of matches.

Arthur laughed heartily, meanwhile fishing a cigar out of his pocket. "Sho', you could say that."

He lit his cigar, drawing the harsh smoke into his lungs, the ensuing cloud almost shimmering in the night air against the moonlight.

He glanced back over at Declan, who's head sat tilted back as he gazed into the sea of lights against the pitch black background. 

He felt a pang of longing in his chest, the kind of feeling reserved for departed friends and lovers long lost, an aching sadness combined with deep fondness.

He could sense within the man a profound sadness, the mark of one with a life long lived and filled with heartbreak.

He felt what could almost be described as a kinship with him.

He knew right then; he had to get to know him better. He couldn't let him depart, never to cross his path again.

He broke the silence, causing Declan's gaze to fall upon him.

"Why don't we go celebrate back at the saloon in Valentine? Ain't got no shortage of drinking money after all." 

The red head drew his lips together tight. "Sounds like a great idea... But there's something I have to do first."

Arthur shrugged. "Would you mind some company?" 

Declan smiled. "Let's get a move on then."

-

They arrived at a small homestead a little ways outside Valentine, a decrepit barn and some empty pens the only evidence that the place was once home to any livestock. 

Despite this, lights glowed inside the cottage, and a woman sat on a chair on the porch with a lantern.

Upon seeing the two men approach, she leapt from her seat, running to greet her company.

Declan dismounted, walking to meet the woman halfway. 

She stopped before him, wringing her hands anxiously. "Well? Did... you find it?"

The man reached into his coat, retrieving the small box he had stowed away during the robbery. 

The woman gasped, her trembling hand extending out to meet his, where he placed the small box into into her palm.

Her eyes grew damp, her free hand raising to cover her mouth. 

Suddenly, she threw her arms around his neck, her chin resting on his shoulder and her tears of joy falling onto the leather of his coat.

Surprised, Declan awkwardly returned the woman's embrace, placing one hand between her shoulders and the other right below it.

When the embrace ended, she looked into his eyes, her smile wide. "Thank you." she whispered, her voice trembling.

He nodded, reaching into his pocket and retrieving a clip of bills from which counted out 100 dollars. 

He extended the cash to the woman. She started to argue, but he interrupted. "Please. This'll keep you and the kids fed 'till you can get on your feet."

Reluctantly, she took the money, her tears of gratitude renewed. 

He placed a hand on her shoulder. "Just... don't go messing with the bank no more, alright?"   
  
She nodded. 

They said their goodbyes as Declan walked her back to her house before returning to Arthur and his horse.

They rode in silence for a few minutes before Declan spoke up.

"Her husband died at the start of winter. She's got two kids, no way to feed 'em, so she took out a loan with the bank, and she used her mother's necklace as collateral."

He sighed.

"Course she couldn't pay it back. So the bastards took it."

Arthur thought for a moment. By now, they had arrived at the saloon, the music and sounds of chatter and laughter going on even late into the night.

Declan exhaled through his nose, a sort of exasperated laugh. 

"I met her last week. She was down here looking for work around town. "

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm aware that the coat that Declan's horse has isn't actually in the game (for that breed anyway), but I think it looks nice and I love thoroughbreds


	3. New Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hang my head in shame, as it has been nearly a month since the last update. 
> 
> Shorter chapter this time, but hey, at least there's plot setup

After their meeting and subsequent robbery together, Arthur could not take his mind off of Declan. 

Even the next day as he sat with the rest of the gang around the campfire sipping the hot, bitter coffee that had been made that morning, he found his mind wandering back to the previous two nights, the memory of the crystal blue eyes and genuine smile hiding an arduous past haunting him.

Naturally, the rest of the gang took notice of Arthur's reclusive state and, while it wasn't unusual for him to be somewhat reserved on occasion, the fact that he wouldn't engage in the usual friendly banter with the other gang members was decidedly worrying.

Ultimately, it was Hosea who made the decision to step in.

"Arthur?" Hosea inquired, standing just outside of the canopy overhead Arthur's cot.

The man in question looked up from his journal, in which he had been sketching away before being halted by the sudden presence of his father figure.

"Hosea." Arthur greeted, with a curt nod. 

Knowing that the older man was about to engage him in conversation, he closed his journal and set it on the nightstand beside him.

Hosea entered the makeshift sleeping space, and Arthur slid to the side, making room on the cot next to him so that the older man could sit. 

Hosea looked upon the boy, now man, he had known from a young age. He reflected upon all of the time they had spent together, how he had been there for him through the good and the bad. 

His heart swelled with pride when he thought about how good of a job he must have done for Arthur to have turned out the way he did.

He placed a hand on his son's shoulder, something he always did as a sort of comfort when it came to talking through their hardships. 

"Something's been eating you," he stated matter of factly. 

Arthur knew there was no use in denying it. His father figure always managed to get it out of him in the end.

He sighed, defeated, and unloaded his troubles onto the older man.

When Arthur was done recounting the events of the previous nights, Hosea thought for a moment, mulling over the information in his head.

"This man you met, this Declan..." Hosea began, "You've got feelings for him, don't you?" 

The blood rushed to Arthur's face, flushing it a deep pink. 

"N-No! What're you... Where the hell did you get that from!?" 

The silver-haired man chuckled. "Son, I've known you long enough to know when someone's gotten your attention. You were the same way back when you met Abigail, Ben Gylles, Emily Halstead-" he ended his sentence abruptly before he could mention Mary and sour the conversation.

"But anyhow, if you want to keep your man around, you should ask him to join the gang. "

Arthur's eye twitched at the connotations that came with Hosea referring to Declan as "his man", but he chose to ignore it.

"Easier said than done. You know how picky Dutch is when it comes to decidin' who can ride with us. Especially now, after Blackwater, what with the Pinkertons sniffin' around..." the outlaw shook his head, trying not to think of what happened on that boat.

"Well..." Hosea returned to his feet, stretching his aching back before turning to Arthur. "We can arrange a meeting. I'll help you plead your case to Dutch, and then you can ask Declan to come out to the arranged spot."

Arthur, ever skeptical but figuring it wouldn't hurt to try, agreed.

\----

"You want me to join your gang?" Declan asked incredulously. 

"Well, why not?" Arthur questioned, absentmindedly sipping from the tin cup of freshly poured coffee Declan offered him.

Arthur had found him back at the campsite where they first met. Declan had initially seemed surprised to see him, but obviously glad nonetheless.

The red-headed man scratched the back of his neck nervously. "Well... I ain't really much for riding with other folk, I've always been on my own. "

Declan busied himself with brushing out Freyja's coat, seemingly to distract himself from the awkwardness of the conversation. 

The outlaw walked around the thoroughbred, coming to rest on the other side of the animal so that the other man was facing him.

"Well, you don't have to join, but what's the harm in going to the meeting? Might make a new friend."

Declan sighed.

He was nervous about the prospect of meeting the infamous Dutch Van der Linde, but at the same time... He wanted to go with Arthur. Not that he'd ever admit it of course.

"Alright. Name the time and the place, and I'll be there."

Arthur grinned, clapping a hand on the man's shoulder.

"You won't regret this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hosea ships it 👌👌👌


	4. A Chance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been nearly a month since last update, but at last, I've finished the next chapter! This one is a bit longer and a little different.
> 
> It's some plot progression, as well as a glimpse into Declan's family.

The two men gazed upon each other with curiosity, hesitance,and vigilance.

One man, the beloved leader of an infamous gang of outlaws, the other, a lone gun who'd made a name for himself redistributing the wealth of the more than fortunate.

Arthur acted as chaperone as well as mediator for the two, meanwhile Charles and Bill had also tagged along for the added precaution.

It was Dutch who broke the ice.

"So, Mr..."

"Esposito. " Declan provided.

"Mr. Esposito. It seems you've made quite the impression on Arthur, he's taken quite a shine to you." Arthur shifted uncomfortably at the potential implications. 

"Suppose so," Declan shrugged casually. "I've been told I'm quite the memorable character."

Dutch laughed, amused at the man's unbothered approach to the topic.

He stepped closer, shrinking the distance between him and the red-haired man.

"Tell me," his voice took on a slightly lower tone, more serious yet not without his previous jovial mood.

"Why do you do what you do?"

Declan remained silent for a moment, gazing into the distance and pondering the question. 

"This country," he answered at last. "They claim it's founded on freedom and equality, when in truth, both of those things are only afforded to the wealthy, and those with pale skin."

His eyes shifted to lock with Dutch's.

"If one with privilege recognizes the problem, should you not use that privilege to try to make a difference? Even if your impact is minor, it's better to do something, rather than stand idly by and watch it unfold."

The gang leader clapped a hand on the red head's shoulder, causing him to flinch, a motion that went unnoticed by everyone but Arthur. 

"I think you'll fit in with us just fine, son." Dutch said, a slight smile upturning the corners of his mouth.

"Arthur," he called for the man's attention.

"Help Mr. Esposito pack his things and escort him back to camp."

Arthur gave his father figure a nod of acknowledgement, before Dutch, Bill and Charles mounted their respective horses and began the ride back to camp.

Declan turned to his friend. "I guess I... made a good impression?" He wondered.

"Yeah, well... Dutch is a pretty good judge of character, or uh..." Arthur rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "At least, he's supposed to be." With the image of a certain unsightly man who's surname started with an "M" invading his mind, he wondered if Dutch was starting to lose touch.

But he had seen potential in Declan, so that had to mean he was in the right... Wasn't he? 

Pushing the turbulent thoughts away, he quickly changed the subject.

"Well, let's go round up your gear, and we'll head on over to camp. We're set up at Horseshoe Overlook."

And with that, the two men mounted up, the thought that they now both belonged to the same gang still fresh and tantalizing in their minds.

\--

"You don't look like a Mexican. "

Declan, who had been sitting around the fire and getting acquainted with the rest of the gang, turned to face the man with long, greasy blonde hair and unkempt mutton chops, the apparent source of the abrupt statement.

"Excuse me?" Declan's eyebrows rose quizzically. 

"Your name, err, Esperanto. It sounds Mexican, but your skin looks pretty pale to me." 

Declan stared, incredulous, at the man. The rest of the gang members lounging around the fire looked away, embarrassed with Micah's sudden outburst.

Finally, he could will himself to form a rebuttal to the greasy man's ignorance.

"It's Esposito. My father was Italian."

Before Micah could make any foolish (and most likely offensive) remarks about Italians, Javier intervened.

"Maybe you should go do something else, before you make an even bigger fool of yourself."

Micah was ready to object, but Javier rose to his feet, seemingly ready to escort the man away if the situation called for it. 

Deciding it wasn't worth it, he raised his hands in submission, before wandering away into the camp.

Satisfied, Javier returned to his seat and picked up his guitar to tune it.

Declan, who sat on the log before the fire, shared a glance with Arthur, who sat on a crate next to the log.

Their mutual expression confirmed to one another that they shared the same disdain for the rather offensive man who had only moments ago interrupted their casual conversation. 

"Don't worry about him," Charles, who sat next to Declan, assured. "He's an idiot, but he's harmless... For the most part."

Something inside Declan caused him to doubt that, but he decided it was not the time to get into it. It was a problem for another time.

"So," Javier spoke up, wanting to take the mood in another direction. "Your surname is Italian, but your first name is Irish. Your family must have been pretty interesting."

Declan reflected fondly on his family, recanting the tale of his parents' meeting to his newly found campmates.

\--

_The sea was calm that day as the cargo ship made it's way back to America from picking up it's cargo in England._

_The young man gazed upon the green and gray waters, running a hand through his dark hair, the sea spray and sweat combining and causing it to slick back._

_His name was Anthony Esposito, Tony to his friends and family. _

_He had been born to a prostitute in Sicily, where he had spent the first six years of his life, up until his birth mother passed away._

_He had been taken in by a friend of his birth mother, Ambera, as well as another woman, Elisabetta, who he soon learned was Ambera's lover._

_The two women gave him a loving home, doting on him and showering him with love and reassurance. _

_When Tony was 10, his mothers made the decision to leave Italy for America, to seek a better life for their family._

_When they arrived in America, they used the money they had saved over the years to buy a farm, tucked away in the wilderness of Massachusetts. _

_When managing the farm became too much for his aging mothers, Tony took up a job with a cargo company, exporting various goods from other countries._

_A commotion from behind caused him to emerge from his state of reflection._

_"What's going on?" He asked, turning to look at his crewmates._

_"We found a stowaway below deck!" A skinny, rather pale man answered._

_Sure enough, merely a moment later two remarkably larger crewmembers emerged from below deck, one of them carrying a woman in his arms._

_The woman was making quite the fuss, kicking, screaming and spewing various curses and threats in an attempt to break free from the man's hold._

_"Must have snuck on when we were docked back in Ireland." Hypothesized the large man who's arms were not currently occupied. _

_Tony shook his head in disbelief. _

_"What should we do with her?" The skinny man inquired, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the disgruntled woman._

_"Leave her to me." Tony answered quickly before anyone else could say anything._

_Reluctantly, the brawny man relinquished his hold on the surprisingly strong stowaway, before scurrying off, the other two crewmen hot on his heels._

_The woman, a bit calmer now that she was no longer being manhandled, looked upon Tony nervously. _

_"What are you going to do with me?" She asked, clearly feeling defeated. _

_"Well... We'll worry about that later, right now let's get you something to eat." He gestured in the direction of the dining room._

_Tony looked upon the woman as she wolfed down the smoked fish as it was the first meal she'd had in years._

_Her face was tinged pink from the sun and littered with freckles. _

_Her orange hair was messy and, when the light hit it just right, resembled flames dancing in the ocean breeze._

_Her glimmering sapphire eyes met his for a brief moment, before looking away, shyly._

_He looked away as well, worried about seeming as if he had unsavory intentions._

_The two remained in a palpable silence, unsure of how to approach one another._

_"Why did you... sneak onto the ship?" Tony asked finally._

_The woman was quiet, her eyes downcast, before looking up at him with visible tears in her eyes._

_"I didn't know what else to do," she admitted. "My mum... She died of fever, I don't have anyone else..." _

_She took a moment to wipe the corners of her eyes with the sleeve of her dress._

_"In Ireland... It's bad. Everyone is starving and sick. England won't help us, the ones that refuse to become Protestants are being beaten, killed..." A sob broke through her voice and she had to pause, clamping a hand to her mouth and giving herself a moment to cry._

_When she had gotten her breathing back under control, she willed herself to continue her story._

_"I just wanted a new life, to start again. America may be rough wild... but at least I'd have a chance there, to make something out of myself. That's all I want... A chance."_

_Tony's heart broke for the woman. He had heard about the famine and atrocities being committed across the ocean, but he hadn't come face to face with it like he was now._

_He had witnessed and lived in poverty himself, when he was a young boy still living in Sicily. _

_His mind had already been made, even before he had heard the woman's story._

_"Everything is alright now", he assured, his dark brown eyes meeting that of the woman's. "I'll make sure of it."_

_The tears came again, but this time, in place of sadness and despair, they were tears of joy, gratitude, and hope._

_"Maeve..." she said suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper. "My name I mean, it's Maeve."_

_"Anthony," he replied, following her example. "But you can call me Tony."___

**Author's Note:**

> Updates probably won't be consistent, just whenever I can finish them between work and life!


End file.
